The Fear of Freedom (and Other Things I Wasn’t Ready For)

Purity Culture, Kinks, and the Gospel According to My Nervous System

I just be doing anything… going anywhere…

I genuinely see my life as the plot of a very riveting, silly, queer Black Sex and the City / Insecure / Living Single type HBO show with cute outfits and existential monologues.

The latest episode?

Me… at a Black queer event centered around pleasure and the erotic.

The vibes at first were super chill. Music, snacks, yapping. I was comfortable. Then came the “indie film screening.” I put that in quotes because I don’t think anything could’ve prepared me for what I was about to witness.

The short films explored a range of kinks—BDSM, urophilia, mechanophilia, medical fetishism, impact play… my whole nervous system was like GIRL, what is happening??? And honestly, it was too much too fast for me. Not because the space was unsafe—it wasn’t—it was intentional, curated, grounded. But because I hadn’t unpacked some things in myself. And it was jarring.

The films were so jarring that at one point, my inner homophobic, repressed church girl came crawling out the closet whispering, “Maybe Jackie Hill Perry and the Republicans are onto something. Maybe this is my sign to pack it up, give my life to Christ, and stop being gay.”

Wild times.

But I shut that voice down and remembered: I’m allowed to be overwhelmed. I’m allowed to have questions. And I’m allowed to come back to myself with grace.

At one point I had to step outside just to breathe. Regroup.

And I ended up leaving before it ended.

Now here’s the part I didn’t want to admit at first: I had judgment in my heart. I am a judgmental woman. I don’t want to be—but I’m realizing that’s my default setting. (My resting state is Patience Ozokwor in an early 2000s Nollywood classic… Nollywood warriors know)

I like to think of myself as sex-positive. As someone who supports liberation, pleasure, and the autonomy of the body. But what I saw made me confront where my limits actually are and how much they’ve been shaped by shame, fear, and the heaviness of puritanical Christianity.

I grew up in a white evangelical church. Traditional African parents. Semi-rural Appalachia. A holy trinity of don’t ask, don’t speak, don’t feel. Sex and desire were never topics we discussed freely. At school: abstinence-only sex ed. At church: virginity conferences, “purity” pledges. At home: my mom referring to sex as “bad stuff” or “adult things.” So of course, when faced with open, embodied, unruly pleasure—I was shook.

I left that event feeling a lot of things. Embarrassed. Curious. A little sad.But mostly, I left knowing that I want to grow. I want to be someone who can sit with discomfort long enough to understand it. To lean into the edge of my knowing and see what’s on the other side.

Do I agree with or want to practice everything I saw? Absolutely tf not. But that’s not really the point. What I gained is desensitization, not in a numbing way—but in a way that opens me up to approach conversations around kink, desire, and erotic expression with more nuance…more understanding…and yes, more compassion.

There’s a part of me that wishes I’d stayed for the discussion portion. Because maybe I would’ve heard something that expanded my perspective. Maybe I would’ve discovered a thread that led me to a buried part of myself. Maybe the judgment was never really judgment at all—just fear dressed up in Sunday school clothes.

The shackles of purity culture don’t just fall off. They cling. They whisper. They follow you even when you think you’re “liberated.”

There’s so much unlearning I have to do. So much liberation I need to make space for…within myself, and for others. And if I’m honest—there’s a part of me that’s scared of freedom. Because what happens when you finally allow yourself to want more? To feel more? To be witnessed in your strange, sacred longings?

That kind of liberation is not aesthetic. It’s not a caption or a slogan. It’s work. And right now, I’m in it.

But I’m also laughing through it. Crying sometimes. Taking breaks. Coming back.

Maybe one day I’ll be the person who stays for the whole screening. Maybe not. But I am the person who reflects. Who wrestles. Who keeps showing up…even when the lights go dim and the projector clicks on.

With love,

Delanyo the Changemaker